


Wear Your Rue

by MembraneLabs



Series: It's not a Machine it's a beautiful lady and we love her [2]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Star Trek Fusion, Carter is the Sulu, Childhood Trauma, Discussions about genocide, F/F, Fusco is the Chekov, Gen, Harold is the Scotty and the Spock, M/M, Nathan is the Kirk, Nathan lives!, Pre-Slash, Reese is also kinda the Spock, Root is the Uhura, Shaw is the Bones, Slash, Slow Burn, Star Trek References, Star Trek: TOS, Tarsus IV, Team Machine in Space, Vulcan!Harold, just trust me, mirror universe!reese
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-15
Updated: 2017-07-06
Packaged: 2018-11-01 00:36:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10910709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MembraneLabs/pseuds/MembraneLabs
Summary: In 2246 on the Earth colony of Tarsus IV, Planetary Governor Kodos--known now as the Executioner--ordered the deaths of 4000 colonists.In 2266, the Machine sends Cody Grayson's number.





	1. Chapter 1

“Is this spot taken?"

Dr. Sameen Shaw turned; Lieutenant Groves was standing behind her, small cocktail glass perched in her hand.

“Find me that person handing out those little things on toast and the spot’s all yours,” Shaw said, and kicked back her own drink.

Groves gave her mysterious little smile, and took a step closer to Shaw, settling next to her as she absently looked around the crowded room.

There was something about Groves that got under Shaw’s skin, set her teeth on edge. It wasn’t that Shaw disliked Groves. She was a useful crewmate to spar with--she didn’t pull her punches, and Shaw preferred it when practicing had consequences. There was still a deep bruise on her hip from their session a few days ago. Shaw was a master of pain. She knew how to treat it in others, but appreciated how real pain was. Simple. She’d miss that bruise once it was gone.

Shaw had spent her life knowing people expected things from her she didn’t have, couldn’t give. Those people were easy to dismiss. Groves was the first person she met that seemed to just be waiting for whatever Shaw did next. That annoyed Shaw.

She was good at ignoring people, ignoring the vacuum of conversation, the awkwardness that hung in the air as people expected her participation. She’d once went an entire diplomatic mission having only said three words: ‘Where’s the bathroom?’

“Remind me why we’re here again,” she caved, grabbing another drink off of a passing tray. This one was pink, and had a flourish of some unidentifiable flower. She tossed the flower behind her.

“Because the synthetic food they’ve developed will help the chronic shortages on Cygnia Minor, and that deserves a party,” Groves began.

“Yea, that’s great, eliminating food shortages. Tarsus IV, never again,” Shaw whooped drily; the speeches had been long and repetitive. “But why are _we_ here? You heard Carter, we diverted three light-years off course to come.”

Groves tilted her head; her long brown hair was secured impeccably back in a high half bun, and the rest cascaded over her shoulders in a well curled ponytail. “Captain Ingram got permission from Command,” she finally said, slipping into the sing-song voice she used when people were being particularly obtuse. “They agreed it was important enough to merit official representation to celebrate the work’s publication.”

“He bullshitted them,” Shaw scoffed.

“It _was_ masterful bullshitting,” Groves sighed, smiling. “Maybe he just really didn’t want to miss a party.”

Across the room, Captain Ingram was still being introduced to the base’s science staff. His large, friendly face was bright. By the end of the night, he would still remember everyone’s name, their mother’s names, and the name of their best friend growing up.

  
The Captain’s ability to work a crowd was _exhausting._ Shaw didn’t know how Finch stomached the man’s extroverted personality, much less maintained his friendship with him.  

Speaking of Finch--

“Looks like our bird’s trying to fly the coop,” Shaw said, adopting one of Fusco’s favorite zingers about the Lieutenant Commander’s well-documented dislike of public functions. He’d been in a particularly rare mood this time, too, avoiding the Captain all night. When dragged to these sort of events where the dress uniforms got aired out, Finch was always found just behind the Captain’s right elbow, playing the perfect First Officer and Chief Engineer while Ingram did the talking for the both of them.

“He’s probably anxious to get back to his new pet assassin,” Groves deadpanned, and Shaw choked on her drink.

They had submitted their reports, but otherwise no one was talking about what had happened two weeks ago. John Reese--an operative of a parallel universe, brought back through the looking glass in a desperate (and successful, as Shaw knew her goddamn craft) attempt to save his life--was the elephant of the Enterprise. Finch had thrown himself into the work of helping the man acclimate. Shaw could have saved Finch the trouble. He could swear to Reese until the natural heat death of the universe that he would find a place in this world, a purpose; and you only had to look at the blank look on Reese’s face to know he wasn’t buying it.

Oh well. Vulcans _were_ fucking obstinate.

“Harry. How is our new friend doing?” Groves asked sweetly as Finch passed by.

Shaw had to admit, the man had an ability to look both affronted and polite. “If you are referring to Mr. Reese, there really isn’t anything to say that I’m sure you don’t already know,” he dodged.

“I hear he’s up for a psych evaluation with Campbell.”

“You really are going have to try harder to get around doctor-patient confidentiality,” Shaw grumbled as Finch frowned. “Besides, psych evals aren’t end-alls. Look at me. Nearly got kicked out of med school over mine.”

“Tell me, Doctor, did it have anything to do with your stellar bedside manner?” Finch quipped.

“Ask for a sandwich after someone dies and people act like you killed them yourself,” Shaw shrugged.  

Groves gave her breathy little laugh that gave Shaw pause.

“That would explain your move to Vulcan,” Finch finally said, a slight air of alarm still on his face.

“Funny how I lived there longer than you, Finch,” she said.

“And how long was that?” Groves asked, looking at Shaw.

“A year,” Shaw shrugged.

Finch’s mouth thinned as Groves looked back at him expectantly. “I visited once,” he admitted. “It was very hot. And very dry.”

“Where _did_ you grow up, Harry?” Groves asked in the way she did when she was trying to sound pleasant.

“Nowhere exciting, and I assure you, Lieutenant, my childhood was wholly unremarkable,” he sniffed. “If you will excuse me.”

“Unremarkable my ass,” Shaw muttered as he walked away.

“No one could ever call your ass unremarkable, Doctor,” Groves teased, her voice lowering.

Shaw glared at her. “The man’s a walking medical first,” she said, annoyed. Groves’ smile only grew.

“And yet for the first Human-Vulcan hybrid, it is surprisingly difficult to find any substantial information about his life. It’s _fascinating_ ,” Groves supposed. She looked around the room again. Shaw was struck by how long her neck was. “Well, I’m glad we were able to be here for this,” Groves admitted, and her smile seemed almost bittersweet. “It’s nice. Seeing Starfleet develop something useful. And the company is right up my alley,” she ended, her eyes half-lidded as she looked back at Shaw.

Shaw opened her mouth to...well she wasn’t sure what she was going to say, but she was interrupted regardless.

“Root?” The voice was timid, but rough. Groves’ eyes widened, and she turned. Shaw frowned, and looked as well.

The man was probably their age, with a nervous face and an eyepatch covering his left eye. Shaw didn’t know his name, but recognized he’d been sitting with the base’s science team during the speeches.

“It is you, Root,” he said again, and there was a desperately relieved edge to his worn face.

Groves’ tilted her head again, poised. “I’m sorry, do I know you?” she said, offering her diplomat smile.

(Shaw tried not to think about how she could catalogue each smile.)

“It’s me. Cody Grayson. From--” But he paused, his good eye glancing over at Shaw. “Could...could I speak to you about something? Privately?” he asked Groves.

Something inside of Shaw wanted to howl _no_ . She could see Groves’ face growing distant; but she stole a glance at Shaw from the corner of her eye, and Shaw knew. Groves wanted to speak to this man, and she wanted to do it _alone._

So Shaw punched down that instinct, reigned it in, saved it. Sometimes you had to administer a stress test if you wanted answers.

“You need a refill,” she muttered, and she took the nearly empty cocktail glass from Groves’ fingers. “I’ll be back,” she promised, and she measured her steps as she walked away.  

She went to the bar, and ordered two cocktails that used Saurian brandy. As far as she was concerned, the situation called for it. She leaned against the bar, and watched Groves and the man from her periphery. She knew conjecture was dangerous, and she was out of hearing range--so she waited.

Groves’ large eyes were intense as she stood tall and still with a dancer’s concentration. The man was speaking to her urgently. He was _pleading_ , and whatever he was saying was landing. She said something--asked some questions? Shaw was no lip reader. Groves gave a single nod, and the man’s face melted with relief.

Shaw picked up the fresh drinks and walked back over as the man hurried away, and made damn sure she wasn’t rushing. “Root?” she asked as she handed Groves the glass.

Groves shook her head, taking the drink. “Childhood nickname,” she explained, which didn’t explain the nervous, heavy pall that had fallen over their corner of the room.

Shaw twirled the glass between her fingers. The chill of the drink was condensing on the glass. Neither of them took a sip from their respective cocktails.

“I think I’ll go get some fresh air,” Groves demurred just as the words ‘what the hell was that about?’ rose within Shaw.

Shaw pushed it back down. “Sure,” she said instead as Groves put her glass down on a nearby table, and walked away.  

The party was pleasant, but boisterous. People were celebrating a new future. Hope. Shaw kicked back her drink in a single gulp--it was smoky and burned in all the right ways.

Pity it never seemed to do anything else for her.

~*~ 

Captain Nathan Ingram cursed under his breath. He’d taken too long to extract himself from the conversation he’d been pulled into, and now the man was gone. If only Harold--

He shook his head. Harold had made his position clear.

Cody Grayson. There hadn’t been anything in his file that suggested why he might be in danger...or what danger he was going to cause. And yet his number had come up all the same. Nathan had managed a brief introduction to the scientist. He seemed a quiet, withdrawn man, but had grown passionate when Nathan had inquired about the synthetic food program. He had no family, and from what Nathan had found, no friends.  

He’d marveled once at the Machine’s inability to separate danger to planets, colonies, and ships from danger to individuals. When he first witnessed it he was floored, then amused. He’d placed his hand on Harold’s shoulder and joked about having to separate the wheat from the chaff.

And then Harold did just that. The Relevant numbers--planets, colonies, ships separated from the Irrelevants. People--single individuals throughout the entire Federation, in need of help or needing to be stopped. The reach of the Machine was so vast and yet so small.

Harold coded the Machine to make the distinction, buried the Irrelevant numbers, and then tried to convince him that it was _necessary._ “The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few,” had been his exact words.

  
Over and over again. 

The night air was warm, and carried the sharp smell of rust. The ground was covered with a fine silt, and scrubby plant life clung close to the rock formations that made a natural maze on this side of the base. Nathan looked up--there was a purple haze on the horizon, but above him the stars were beginning to show. And somewhere among them was the Enterprise; and within her, the Machine that had sent him to this planet in the first place.

He’d been lucky this time. The synthetic food discovery made redirecting the ship possible. But he knew one day it wouldn’t be so easy, and he would have to make the call between insubordination or serving the Machine.

What nightmare had they created? 

Nathan sighed, and followed the path. He’d seen Grayson leaving the reception in this direction, but it was away from the base and towards a series of walks through a nature preserve. There were no natural predators on this planet, but it was still strange for the man to wander so far at this time of night.  

He heard the shuffle of feet on the rocks and silt, and looked ahead.

“Lieutenant Groves!” he exclaimed as he saw her come around the corner.

Groves paused. “Captain. I was--I wasn’t expecting to run into you,” she said, smoothing down her red uniform dress.

“Oh, not to worry, Groves,” Nathan offered. “Even I get a little tired of all the hobnobbing at these sort of things. Figured a bit of air would help."

“Agreed,” Groves said, offering the polite smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

Nathan sometimes wondered what might have happened to her if Harold hadn’t crossed her path all those years ago. It had been a different crew, a different time--Alicia Corwin at the comms and Denton Weeks at the helm. But always Harold as his XO and engineer.

It had been a run-in with the Orion Syndicate, and Groves had been working for them. She’d had the makings of a true criminal mastermind at only twenty.

They’d been lucky. They’d gotten out alive, had blown a hole in the Orion intelligence ring, and while Nathan had been busy cleaning it all up Harold had somehow put it into the young prisoner’s head that her talents might be better served in Starfleet where they might do some good.

 When Groves had escaped from custody while still planetside, Nathan had to pull some strings, fudge some reports to cover her tracks. Harold hadn’t asked him--Nathan could read it on his face once she was gone.

Six months later, both he and Harold received personal encrypted communications asking for a letter of recommendation to Starfleet Academy for one Samantha Groves. The transcript was masterfully forged. 

“Why the hell not, Harold?” he’d laughed as they compared notes. “Either she’ll make it at the Academy or she won’t.”

“Oh. Oh she will,” Harold had sighed, but had sent his own letter as well. The letters were mostly fabrication except for the parts that mattered. They’d made a career of working around Starfleet’s rules, after all.

“Groves--by any chance have you seen one of the scientists? Cody Grayson?” Nathan asked. “I meant to ask him something but he seems to have slipped out.”

Groves crossed her arms, but her face remained helpful. “I’m not sure who that is,” she said.

“Pity,” Nathan sighed, his hands falling to his hips. He’d have to keep looking. “Don’t let me keep you, Lieutenant,” he offered with a smile.

She nodded her head, and they passed each other on the path.

Nathan went the way she had come--just around the corner, a rock split the path in two. Nathan huffed, and went to the left.

He saw the black boots lying behind the rock a few paces after that. The terrible moment of surprise and befuddlement before recognition settled. Nathan hurried forward, and on the other side of the boulder found the body of Cody Grayson.

“Lieutenant Groves!” he shouted as he knelt in the fine silt, his fingers fumbling for the man’s neck.

No pulse.

The sound of feet running came closer as Nathan stood, numb. He’d been too late--

Groves came to a sudden stop behind Nathan, and was eerily quiet.

“He’s dead,” she said, and she was staring at the body of Cody Grayson, her face hard.

“Lieutenant,” he warned as she took an absent step towards the body. “Lieutenant, call Dr. Shaw now,” he ordered as he took out his own communicator to hail the base security. They would need to secure the scene, make sure it was not disturbed further.

She blinked, and took her communicator from her belt, still staring at the twisted body resting in the fine, pale silt.

“Dr. Shaw, come in--”

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Oh, what a tangled web we weave  
> When first we practice to deceive!"

Base Security Chief Judd Landry arrived on the scene quickly, and Nathan suggested Shaw’s services to determine the nature of the man’s death. The base had a full lab and a small morgue; there was no reason to transport the body to the Enterprise for the autopsy, though he’d looked the other way as Shaw fixed herself a hypospray to sober up immediately. “What a waste of Saurian brandy,” he’d heard her mutter as she administered it, giving a slight shudder. Nathan knew from experience it was a hell of a way to sober up and had it’s own nasty little side effects.

He’d returned to the Enterprise with Groves, and wasn’t in his quarters long before the his door chimed. Harold walked in, and paused.

“I heard what happened,” was all Harold said, and Nathan motioned for him to take a seat. Nathan found he was still mad at Harold, but he also didn’t much care at the moment.

They waited in silence to hear what Nathan already knew. The Machine wouldn’t have given him Cody Grayson’s number otherwise. God, finding that man’s body, knowing that once again, he had been too late--

Shaw’s transmission from the base lab was connected to the small monitor on his desk. She was still wearing scrubs, her dark hair framing her face, making it look severe on the screen. “Captain,” she said, her face inscrutable, “this man was murdered.”

Nathan shot a look at Harold. Harold’s eyebrow quirked as his head tilted back, his chin bobbing slightly. Nathan always thought of it as the closest Harold could get to a spit-take.

“And what makes you say that, Shaw?” Nathan asked, looking back at the screen as he tried feign surprise, trying to not let the bitter knowledge of his failure give him away.

“The tetralubisol I found in his stomach was a pretty good clue.”

“That’s a lubricant. Commonly used on bases and starships,” Harold declared, his face twisting in distaste, “dangerous if exposed to skin contact, certainly lethal if ingested. But what makes you so sure it was an intentional poisoning? Or, not even a suicide?”

 _‘Because the Machine wouldn’t have given me his number otherwise,’_ Nathan had to bite back.

“Because I made them collect all the used glasses, and already found one with his fingerprints laced with the stuff,” and Nathan could hear the _‘you’re welcome’_ in her surly tone. “I’m no psychologist, but he spikes his own drink at a party and wanders off to die?”

“That does seem unlikely,” Harold had to agreed.

“And it’s not like there’s a bottle of tetralubisol behind the bar someone could have grabbed by mistake.” Shaw sighed, and bent her head to crack her neck. “I’m done here, forwarded my report already. But this Landry guy wants statements from anyone at the party, and especially from you and Groves before we leave orbit.”

“Tell him we’ll beam down at his convenience,” Nathan sighed, and he ended the call.

“What a tragedy,” Harold said, shaking his head slightly as he looked away.

Nathan clenched his jaw, unable to look at Harold. He had to reign it in, or Harold would see it on his face and start asking those questions of his, and Nathan didn’t want to have to lie directly to Harold’s face. Harold had always been the one person throughout his life that he’d never lied to until now--

The intercom chimed, pulling Nathan from his black thoughts. “Captain,” Groves began, “a subspace transmission from Starfleet Command, high priority. Senior staff only.”

He pressed the intercom button. “Patch it through,” he ordered, and was grateful for the distraction, though when the monitor lit up again he found himself surprised as well.

“Alicia,” Nathan drawled, falling hard into old habit as the face of Commander Corwin appeared on the screen. Harold frowned, but Nathan slipped into the old, comfortable part. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

“We received Dr. Shaw’s report about the death of Cody Grayson,” she said, cutting the pleasantries, jumping right to business. The more things changed--

“Yes, Dr. Shaw has offered her professional opinion. Base security has an unpleasant job ahead of them.” Nathan tilted his head. The timing of her call was uncanny. “We’ll be leaving orbit and back on course once we’ve finished leaving our statements--”

“We feel it’s imperative that you head the investigation,” Alicia interrupted, and her face seemed tight.

Nathan leaned back in his chair. “Something has you worried?” Nathan gambled.

“We are concerned this might be sabotage,” she finally admitted. Harold sat up in his seat as if he was about to say something--but stopped.

But Nathan knew what Harold was thinking, and said it instead. “You received a Number?” he prompted.

“No.”

This startled Nathan. “Alicia, you of all people are aware of how the Machine works,” he said carefully, trying not to give too much away. He didn’t dare look at Harold--he knew how Harold had felt about anyone else knowing about the Machine. But when the Machine was first operational, they needed a way to disseminate the Relevant numbers accordingly, make sure they got the attention they needed. Alicia had been the natural choice once she made the transfer to Intelligence, but even she had only understood that the Machine was never wrong.

“Cody Grayson was one of the leading scientists of the synthetic food break-through. Number or not, we have to be sure there’s no risk to the program,” she explained.

“Well, we certainly have the crew capable of spearheading an investigation,” Nathan agreed. “I have every confidence that if there’s something to find, they’ll get to the bottom of it.”

The screen went dark. Nathan sighed, and turned to look at Harold. He hadn’t moved during the transmission, his face blank, hands resting on the table.

“Funny how Head of Communications always seem to make the transfer to Intelligence,” Nathan cracked, trying to lighten the mood. “They can’t help it, they end up knowing everyone’s secrets.”

“It wasn’t sabotage,” Harold said instead, with the calm certainty of a man who knew his own creation. “If it were sabotage, the Machine would have sent them the planetary designation for investigation. Commander Corwin always gives a time frame of when a Number is received, and any information they already found, but this time she had nothing to offer. This wasn’t a relevant threat. You do understand that, don’t you?” and there was a plaintive tone in Harold’s voice as he turned to look at Nathan.

Nathan looked away. “Well maybe the Machine hasn’t seen the big picture yet,” he supposed, staring at the gold Captain’s braid on his shirt.

“No,” and there was the fast but determined drawl in Harold’s voice he took when Nathan was being particularly dense. “The Machine would have sent Intelligence the Number if this was a matter of Federation security.”

Nathan closed his eyes briefly at the short laugh in Harold’s voice. The one he had when he knew he was so right, and everyone else was just being slow.

“Well,” Nathan drawled in turn, “it’s hard to know if your Machine is still working when you’ve got us locked out of it.”

He wanted to take it back as soon as he said it. It hung in the air between them.

“I had my reasons, Nathan,” Harold said, softly but firmly.

“You always do, old friend,” slipped out of Nathan’s mouth. “Look, we’ll head the investigation,” he pressed on, getting out of his chair. “Prove it wasn’t sabotage and then we’ll be able to leave.”

He turned to look back at Harold, clasping his hand behind his back. Harold’s hands were usually restless things, fidgeting with the compulsion to fix some hardware, or weave some code.

But now they remained on the desk, carefully still, and Nathan couldn’t stand it.

“I’ll get Carter and Fusco to work with base security, get them interviewing everyone on base,” he pushed. “But I could use you looking into Cody Grayson. Try to find out why someone would want a scientist dead.”

“Of course,” Harold confirmed after a brief pause. He rose and moved towards the door, but hesitated again. “Nathan--”

But Nathan found he desperately didn’t want to hear whatever Harold was about to say. “That will be all,” he cut in.

Harold’s face closed even further, the moment gone. He left the quarters, and Nathan felt...alone.

~*~

Harold could feel the mug placed at his elbow before he noticed the looming figure behind him. He craned his neck to look up at Mr. Reese, who was trying very hard to look innocuous.

Harold blinked. “How did you get down here?” he asked. He was working at his terminal deep within engineering, far away from the bridge and the crew, close to the heart of the Enterprise. His personal modifications would make any sabotage difficult, if not impossible in this critical area of the ship, but unauthorized personnel had no business here, and Mr. Reese certainly did not have the clearance yet. He still didn’t have a proper uniform.

Mr. Reese merely shrugged. Harold made a mental note to take Donnelly, Head of Security, to task for the breach. “Beta’s almost over. I thought you might need a break,” Mr. Reese offered, pushing the mug closer with one finger.

“No thank you, I don’t drink coffee,” Harold said, turning back to his console.

“Plomeek tea, one sugar. Although I thought Vulcans avoided sucrose,” Mr. Reese supposed.

“They do,” Harold said, and hesitated a moment before picking up the mug.

Mr. Reese leaned forward slightly; trying to see what was on his monitor no doubt. “You could just ask what I’m working on,” Harold dryly said, but then stilled. Alone down here with Mr. Reese he felt at ease. The thought made him wary.

The tea was still quite hot, just like it should be. Harold raised the mug to his lips, and took a quick sip--it burned his mouth, surprising him. Most people couldn’t figure out how to override the safety protocols of the food processors, much less knew that Plomeek tea was supposed to be served hotter than safety regulations allowed. How Mr. Reese would know both--

Harold swallowed, clasping the mug in both hands and turning his head away from the man. He forced his eyes to refocus on the picture of Cody Grayson.

“I know what you’re working on, just wondering if you’ve found anything,” Mr. Reese said.

“The investigation is ongoing,” Harold explained.

Mr. Reese looked at him a long moment, and then turned to lean on the console frame, his long arms crossed. “You know I’m trained to do this sort of thing, Finch. I’m good at finding out the truth,” he offered casually. “It’s how I got here in the first place.”

“Indeed,” Harold drawled before he could stop himself. He clammed back up, but a small smile ghosted over Mr. Reese’s face. “Your assistance really isn’t necessary, Mr. Reese,” he tried instead.

Mr. Reese shifted. “Just feeling a bit restless here, Finch,” he admitted, his jaw clenched.

Harold had promised him a job, a purpose. But there was still so much red tape to navigate, so much to obscure so that Mr. Reese could continue his new life in a new universe. Harold was building his new identity as fast as he could--if Harold had allowed him to opt for wandering the far reaches of the Federation, it would be one thing. But Harold was trying to fold him seamlessly into Starfleet itself.

He told himself he owed the man that much. So why did it feel so selfish?

“Cody Grayson was one of the leading researchers on the synthetic food project. It paints his life with a sort of tragic symmetry,” Harold admitted. When Mr. Reese cocked his head, Harold pushed on. “The Federation classified the records of the children survivorsr, gave them anonymity, but I was able to access them. He was on Tarsus IV during the famine,” Harold explained.

“I’ve been hearing a lot about this Tarsus IV,” Mr. Reese muttered, reading the file on the screen. “Found quite a few think pieces.”

“It’s human nature, to try to explain the inconceivable,” Harold conceded.

“One asked what would have happened if the distress call hadn’t gotten through and the relief supplies hadn’t been sent. What do you think, Finch? Do you think Kodos might have been hailed as a hero?”

The utter wrongness of the thought seemed to knock the air from Harold’s lungs. “Mr. Reese, I don’t know what articles you have been reading,” he began, his words speeding up from the horror of the thought. “But I assure you what Kodos did--you are aware of the events, are you not?”

“The food supply on the Earth colony of Tarsus IV was destroyed by a fungus,” Mr. Reese recited. “There were eight thousand colonists and no food. Kodos seized power, declared emergency martial law.”

“He used fear and panic to divide the colonists,” Harold pushed, turning in his seat to stare at Mr. Reese. Mr. Reese held his piercing look, his own face blank. “Half lived, rationed whatever food was left. The other half were put to death immediately based on his own personal standards and without mercy. Over four thousand people. Whole families. They died quickly, without pain, but they died,” Harold emphasized, a twist of his torso punctuating his point, “and upon the order of one man and his ideas of eugenics. What Kodos did was genocide, Mr. Reese.” Harold stilled. He cocked his head. “You do understand that?”

Mr. Reese looked away. “Pity they never found his body. It’s always cleaner when there’s a body,” he said instead, stretching his legs out. “Not that you can’t fake a death using another body,” he added as an afterthought.

Harold felt lost, overwhelmed. “Have you faked many deaths, Mr. Reese?” he asked, unable to stay silent.

“Had to prove a lot of them. The Empire doesn’t like loose ends,” was all he offered.

“Mr. Reese, I’m afraid there is some maintenance I have to address,” Harold finally said, unsure of what else to say. “ If you are still looking for something to do, I would appreciate the assistance in investigating Mr. Grayson further,” he offered.

Mr. Reese gave one of his small, fleeting smiles.

~*~

“Hey. How’d it go?”

Inquisition probably hadn’t been the best tone to start with, but she had finally found Groves coming from the transporter room, and had stomped over before she knew what she was doing.

Groves didn’t startle--nothing seemed to surprise her--but she did pause in the corridor and give Shaw an enigmatic smile. “I gave my statement and was dismissed. Why, were you worried about me?” she said, tilting her head.

Shaw punched down the desire to pinch the bridge of her nose. “You knew the guy, I’m just--”

“Doctor Shaw, are you trying to get me to talk about my feelings?” Groves smirked.

“I’m not trying to get you to do anything, I’m just asking,” Shaw grumbled. This. This was the part she hated about being the ship’s doctor. Four hundred and thirty souls stationed on a Starship for years and even though she could push people towards Dr. Campbell for therapy, this was still a necessary part of being a physician.

People were easy to read. It was offering the correct response that eluded her.

Groves crossed her arms--her pony tail curled around her long neck, draped over her sharp shoulder. “If you must know, I knew him when we were children. It wasn’t like we were friends. It was more like...seeing an old ghost,” Groves explained, calmly, logically. “Thank you, Doctor Shaw, but I’m fine.”

Shaw stilled. “Alright then,” she said, but she knew with a martyr’s zeal that Groves was lying. “So, see you later? It’s gym day,” she said instead.

Even with the smile on her face Groves seemed distant. “I’m sorry, Doctor, but we’ll have to reschedule,” and began to pull away.

Shaw watched her leave, and compartmentalized yet another conversation with Lieutenant Groves.

~*~

Nathan pulled up a file for his daily log, but paused, and sighed. Carter and Fusco’s check-in about their investigation with Landry hadn’t revealed any new information.

There were three hundred and fifty seven personnel on the base alone, not including guests from the Enterprise. Fifty-three scientists, one hundred and twenty five Operations staff, one hundred and sixty one civilian staff and family and eighteen visiting actors.

“Part of a Federation Cultural Exchange,” Security Chief Landry had explained. “They spend months touring bases and colonies, trying introduce people to Terran culture. Performed Macbeth just last week.”

“Let’s start with the people who were at the party,” Carter had said, spreading out the files on the large screen.

It appeared the Enterprise would be in orbit for some time.

Nathan had struck up a conversation with one of the actors while planetside, a middle aged woman who had played the role of Lady Macbeth. She’d had a round, pleasant face, a low twang of an accent when not performing, and soft brown curls that were beginning to go gray. “It’s absolutely tragic,” she had confided in him. “He seemed such a nice young man, quiet. I hope they find who did it, and soon. Although, we’re already going to have to skip our next stop. Oh, I apologize, that must have sounded terrible, worrying about our touring schedule when a man is dead!”

“Well, the show must go on,” Nathan had offered absently as he looked around, trying to put faces to names, trying to narrow down who the culprit might have been.

He supposed he could blame his preoccupation for agreeing to offer the acting troupe a tour for an exclusive performance for the crew. “The Enterprise is one of those deep space exploration starships, isn’t she?” the woman had asked eagerly. “Oh, I just know our people would adore a tour if we’re to be stuck here for some time, and we’d be happy to exchange a performance for the privilege!”

Nathan had wanted to say no, but it would be free entertainment for the crew. What harm could there be? “Just anything but the Scottish Play,” he had warned, half-joking. “The Enterprise isn’t a theater, but I’d rather not risk it.”

He arranged for the troupe to beam up shortly. In the meanwhile he had a log to file, reports to sign off on, orders to approve, and shadowing all that was the knowledge that a murderer was still walking free--

His door chimed. The interruption didn’t surprise him--he was the Captain of a Starship, after all--but the person on the other side did.

“Someone made record time in picking up an STI,” Shaw sighed, thrusting the PADD at him to sign.

“Good God,” Nathan muttered as he read the report and signed off on it. “I thought that one was a thing of the past.”

“So did _Name Redacted,_ ” Shaw drawled.

Nathan handed the PADD back, and looked at Shaw. “Lieutenant Groves is doing alright?” he asked. He knew the two were as close as anyone could get to Shaw.

“Well, it’s not like he was family or a friend,” Shaw said. “But she did speak to him before he died--”

“What?” Nathan cut in, "But she said--even in her statement she said--"

_‘I’m not sure who that is.’_

Shaw cocked her head--he didn't have to finish his sentence for her to come to the same realization.

Lieutenant Groves had lied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for the delay! The problem with posting as you go is sometimes you find yourself having to take a moment to actually make sure you don't write yourself into a corner with a shoddy plot. And then you step away for too long and picking the story back up is like PULLING BLOOD FROM A STONE--
> 
> But I'm back! Thank you FantasyPrincess for always and ever telling me I should be writing.


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